


Tener la Negra

by teasoni



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Amorality, Choking, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, F/F, Feminization, Fisting, Friends to Lovers, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Praise Kink, Prostitution, Semi-Public Sex, Strap-Ons, Trauma, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teasoni/pseuds/teasoni
Summary: She'd always had a run of luck that was years over its due. Now, perhaps, she'd finally overstayed her welcome.[A collection of experimental vignettes following the courier as she hunts down the men who tried to kill her, and the women she fucks along the way.]
Relationships: Corporal Betsy/Female Courier, Female Courier/Veronica Santangelo, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	1. Corporal Betsy/F!Courier || no cw

They had arrived at Camp McCarran at dusk. The horizon was black with the promise of rain; they’d been one step ahead of that storm for days. Raul was glad for the company after days of lonesome travelling. The courier didn’t seem glad for anything at all.

She dismissed Raul soon after their arrival. He deserved a break, after all, and she moved quicker on her own. She spent the next few hours scouting out the camp and getting a feel of the place. She hadn’t been around so many NCR rangers for years. It felt strange. Homely.

She ended up in Gorobets’s tent, some way or another. She didn’t tell them about her time spent with the Rangers. They didn’t need to know. She pilfered some cigarettes from Spades – he was green, just like he said, practically wet behind the ears, and he looked at her with those same wide awe-struck eyes that he did Betsy – and stood outside smoking, watching as the sun struggled down behind the mountains. The smoke she blew was red.

Betsy joined her there. They talked about things – stupid things, shooting the shit, a relief from the things they’d seen and the things they’d done. They talked about those fucked-up little raider chicks, how their brains looked all wet and ruined, what a shame it was, really. Stroking up their legs, over their tits, with the crosshairs. The courier felt wrong, morally bankrupt, as if she had any morality left. No; she was as gray as they came. Betsy got that. She wasn’t all that different – none of them were, in the end.

It was Betsy who cornered her in the tent, after the others had gone to the mess hall. They could hear men outside laughing and smoking, and the dull rattle of gunfire from outside the walls. Betsy wasn’t scared of her. Pushed her shades up into her hair, knocked her beret clean off her head, put her mouth hot and open against the courier’s. It’d been so long since she’d been touched like that.

There were only a few minutes in it; the rough-and-tumble made things exciting. The danger of being caught. The sheer, sad desperation of both of them, huffing and rutting like dogs in a dark corner. Betsy’s gun-roughened fingers were in her cunt and she dripped down her wrist, onto her sleeve, and the thought of Betsy sniffing the soiled cuff days later was ambrosia. They bit. There wasn’t a single inkling of gentleness between them, but there was respect, and that was all the courier could really hope for.

She glistened with sweat in the half-light. A thin sheen of it, made her glow like a ghoul only just given over to madness. Betsy stood against the rack of ammunition that kept them hidden, breathing hard, her bony chest rising and falling. There was sadness in those eyes, the courier noticed. Terrible, aching sadness. They parted without words, but Betsy found the courier’s bunk a few nights later. Clenching teeth kept them quiet.

Then Gorobets told her about Cook-Cook and the courier scored it down on the notepad in her pack. Underlined it three times. Top of the list. She collected heads for a living, but this wasn’t for caps. Not anymore. Not since she’d seen the pain in Betsy’s face when she’d come, the shame, the way she turned her back as if she wanted to shrivel into dust. The courier recognized it. Recognized it in Betsy, in herself, in all the other poor bitches of the wasteland.

By some miracle Betsy agreed to get help. She thrashed and bit, but the courier knew she was just scared. She held her like a feral dog and told her _I’ll get him for you, girl. I’ll bring you his cock and let the coyotes have the rest._ And Betsy had smiled through yellowed teeth and held her like they were 12 and best friends, and for the first time in a very long while, the courier felt like she stood for something good again.


	2. F!Courier, Veronica || no cw, sfw

The first time she met Veronica, she was suspicious.

There was something in the girl’s eyes; she was too quick, too clever, and there was something underlying that sunshine-bright smile of hers that made the courier nervous, and very few things managed to make her nervous these days. She didn’t believe the girl’s naïveté, not for a goddamn second – she’d lived too long and seen too much for that.

But she was cute. Pretty, in a dusty chewed-up kind of way, soft with fat and with eyes that sparkled star-bright. She was cute, yes, very cute, and as she let herself be chatted up the courier could practically hear Raul chortling at the bar behind her.

“She’s pretty, boss,” he told her when she excused herself from Veronica’s company and returned to him. He was too observant for his own good – always had been, but it was worse now that he’d come to know her. His eyes, milky yet forever alert, peered at her curiously. The courier rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth.

“She wants to come with me,” she said. Tone hard and flat. Frustrated. “To the Strip. Like a fucking puppy-dog.”

Raul laughed, loud, harsh. “You always had a soft spot for them types, eh?” He leaned back against the bar, watched as she took a bottle of vodka from her pack and drank straight from the neck. “You thinkin’ of bringing her along?” He couldn’t keep the frank surprise from his voice; the courier didn’t pick up strangers. Hell, the only reason she’d let him go with her was because Black Mountain was too dangerous and she was half-gone with radiation poisoning anyway. “You sure that’s a –,”

“Absolutely fucking not,” the courier replied, perhaps a little too loudly. Michelle looked up; they drew eyes. The courier didn’t so much as flinch. She stared hard out towards the horizon.

Raul watched her, stroked his fingers over the few lingering hairs of his mustache. Yes, he knew her well enough by now. Knew that she had a soft spot for pretty girls, young girls, drugged-up raider girls and whores and the ones with the collars, the ones who would crawl and simper and squirt. Knew that she got off on power and guilt, but she wasn’t no megalomaniac, wasn't a lunatic. Nah, she’d just been raised all wrong, he thought, fucked in the head both figuratively and literally. But who was he to blame her? She didn’t hurt nobody who didn’t already have one foot in the grave anyway. He saw that same tightness in her face as she glanced across the road to Veronica, but knew this time she had no excuse for making the poor girl cry.

He’d tell her she was being transparent, you know, if he didn’t prefer to keep his balls attached to his body.

Soon the vodka went back in her pack and the sun sank lower towards the jagged teeth of the Mojave, boiling blood-red and angry and flushing the world with firelight.

“You done thinkin’ yet?” he asked her, eventually, when the first crisp winds of the night-time blew in from the east. “Or are we gonna bunk down here ‘till you make up your mind? Even a ghoul’s gotta get some shut-eye, y’know.”

The courier merely waved him away. Raul lay on his bedroll that night and couldn’t think of anything else but how strange it all was.

They set off the next morning without her. They woke early, just as the sky began to grow pale. The girl – Veronica – wasn’t with them. The courier didn’t say much, but then again, she never did. Raul was stuck shooting the shit with ED-E, who didn’t really offer much in the way of conversation.

“Hey! Hey, wait!”

The call cut clear and sweet through the morning, just as the first fingers of light began to stretch across the wastes. The courier grimaced, pace faltering. It was, of course, Veronica, bounding towards them with pink cheeks and a face still creased from sleep.

“Please take me with you,” she begged. No beating about the bush, that was for sure. The courier looked as far from pleased as she was ever likely to get, even more so when Veronica clutched at her arm with her bare hand. _Like a fucking puppy-dog_ , the courier had said the day before, and Raul finally understood fully what she meant. _Really fuckin’ cute._ He’d laugh if the courier wasn’t in such a sour mood.

Eventually, the courier acquiesced. She looked like she’d just swallowed glass, and when Veronica began to hum some old shanty tune, that look just got worse. Raul chuckled to himself, and ED-E chirped curiously, bobbing circles around Veronica’s head. The courier, her legs long and powerful, kept a handful of yards ahead of them at all times.

“I know she’s got a crush on her,” Raul told ED-E one evening when they camped near Lake Las Vegas. The water appeared as a hole, bored right through the earth and out the other side, full of glimmering stars. ED-E beeped glumly. “Surprised she ain’t done nothin’ yet.”

The courier let out a low, rumbling snore from her chair, her hands tight as ever on her rifle. Raul looked at ED-E, who trilled again. Veronica was dead asleep on a bedroll, though Raul was no less suspicious of her than the courier was, and some part of him knew she wasn’t half as asleep as she looked.

And so they traveled on a bit. Raul came to know Veronica; she was kind and bright, and very clever, and she sang like a bird. They became friends, in a way, and it took them a while to realize that the courier was leading them nowhere in particular, wandering like her mind was far, far away.


	3. F!Courier/Slave || dub-con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not saying most of these will be about veronica, but.... they'll probably mostly be about veronica

They didn’t expect to run into the Legion when they did.

The courier was already in a bad mood. She hadn’t slept well – not that she usually did – and the sky was dark with the promise of rain. She was hungry and pissed off, and Raul knew it was best to keep out of her ways at times like these. Perhaps, then, it was a mercy that they came across the legionnaires when they did – the courier could blow off some steam, bash in a few skulls, spill some brains. Always seemed to do her some good.

What was most intriguing, however, was seeing Veronica fight. They hadn’t come across any hostiles apart from the odd cazador, and so neither Raul nor the courier could really gauge the girl’s true ability.

It was just as the courier had expected. Veronica fought like a champion.

It left her feeling hot between the legs. That hydraulic fist was really something to look at – a fantastic piece of machinery, fit like a glove, bit like a bitch. Veronica moved in a way that was almost gleeful. She’d been trained, that much was obvious, and far more than she’d led the courier to believe. If there was one thing the courier couldn’t stand, it was dishonestly. But she’d deal with that later.

The legionnaires were young. Boys, really, barely past the cusp of manhood, deluded with mirages of grandeur and glory. Caesar sure knew how to feed them. Veronica and Raul felt a bit bad. The courier knew she should, too. But she didn’t.

The blood sank like tar into her clothes. Stained her brilliantly; there was nothing quite like the sight of the courier with blood smeared across her face, her eyes peaceful in a way they rarely were otherwise, as if she could put her torment to rest for a little while. They had a slave with them, too – a young little thing, frightened, barely old enough to be considered a woman. The courier was… feeling some kind of way. Blowing open heads was enough to get her gears grinding, usually, but seeing Veronica as well – she didn’t appreciate that effect.

The courier was acutely aware of Veronica’s eyes on her back as she sat down with that blubbering excuse of a slave and pried off her bomb collar.

“Shut up,” she snarled at the girl, irked by her constant wailing. The girl only cried harder. The courier flung the collar like a frisbee, and as it hit its limit it bust apart like a firework. The slave cowered and shrieked and hid herself against the unforgiving line of the courier’s body. The courier petted her hair, greasy as it was, and smiled the ghost of a smile.

Veronica stood white-faced and unmoving. Raul, anxious, took her by the elbow and attempted to steer her away. “Come on,” he urged her. “You don’t wanna watch too long.”

Veronica didn’t say a thing as she went with him. It was a strange thing, really, to see her so silent. She helped Raul set up camp just as the day began to darken. The courier joined them with the slave sometime later.

The slave didn’t have a name. The courier didn’t bother giving her one. They fed and watered her, patched her up, and soon she fell into a dead sleep. Veronica didn’t look at the courier once.

“You scared her, boss,” Raul chuckled when Veronica wandered out of earshot. The courier looked up from her can of pork and beans to where Veronica stood just at the edge of the firelight, back turned.

“Good,” she said.

The night was silent and still. Veronica couldn’t sleep. How could she? She’d seen her fair share of fighting, but this wasn’t the same. It left something inside her off-kilter. Misplaced. She’d seen something in that fight with the Legion, but she didn’t know what. Was it the slave? She knew there were slaves. She knew how badly they were treated. But she’d never – she’d never seen something like this. That girl. She was so young – Veronica could remember being that young, once, years ago.

She rolled over onto her side. The fire was little more than a pile of embers, now, occasionally spitting spark up towards the sky. She watched, hypnotic, and almost fell into shallow slumber when –

There was the low murmur of voices. A whimper, shushing, cooing words like molasses. A long, elegant hand caught what little firelight was left. Caught Veronica’s eye. She looked, and quickly wished she hadn’t.

It was the slave. She was awake, on her hands and knees, dressed in the meager scraps they’d offered to hide her nakedness. She was muttering, saying something, occasionally whimpering like a dog. And the courier – she was awake, too. They were both on her bedroll, the courier half-lying on her elbows, the girl edging up to her. And the courier’s hand – dexterous, skillful – petted what was left of the girl’s hair, her face gentler than Veronica had ever imagined it could be. Her mouth formed words Veronica could not hear. Soft words. Cooing, hushed words, soothing. Behind her, Raul snored loudly, but neither the girl nor the courier seemed to notice. Veronica couldn’t move.

What the hell were they doing? Was this some sort of weird power-trip thing? Maybe the slave girl was nuts. Veronica had heard of some of them going mad at the hands of the Legion. Maybe this wasn’t so different.

She caught a whisper. _Good._ The courier’s tone was low and rasping, and Veronica couldn’t hold back her shiver.

Her guts pulled up tight when she realized just what was going on. It took her a few moments, but she wasn’t blind. The slave was murmuring as she pulled open the courier’s pants, pulled them down her thighs almost impatiently. And the courier – rather than turning the girl gently away, she spread her legs wide and admitted her between them.

Quick little tongue. Nervous, like a little bird, sang just as sweetly. Slaves like these were always the same. Terrified of being put beneath the whip, desperate to please. But the courier didn’t want to think about that now. This girl was as afraid as she was thankful, and she was showing her gratitude the only way she knew how.

Who was the courier to stop her?

She gave the girl what relief she could. Encouraging words, gentle ones, a balm to heal the wounds the Legion had put into her, at least a little bit. It was false kindness; the courier didn’t mean any of it, not really, but the girl didn’t have to know that. Her climax was muted and ran deep.

The girl could only wheeze when the courier lay her back on the bedroll. Her eyes rolled wildly; she was used to serving, to pleasuring rather than being pleasured. But the courier, if anything, valued fairness. And she sure valued pretty little girls like this.

The slave shuddered and quivered like a virgin when the courier touched her. Cradled her like a baby, kissed her face as she cried with the sheer sensation of it all, ran her hands over that lithe, sinuous body because she knew it would be a long time until she got the chance to do something like this again. She took those coral-pink nipples into her mouth and sucked them red, lavished the poor girl with as much lust as she could handle. Fucked her knuckle-deep with three fingers and thought of nothing but Veronica’s gauntlet and the hand inside it, wondering how it would feel shoved wrist-deep into her cunt.

The slave came apart with a wailing cry, muffled only by the courier’s smothering mouth. Raul didn’t wake. Veronica lay frozen on her bedroll, watching from the very corner of her vision, unable to look directly at the sin for fear of coming apart. Her body burned, her flesh prickled, and she dripped. Horror made her cold and yet all she could imagine was what it would be like to be that slave girl, to be taken apart so thoroughly.

If she wasn’t crazy before, surely she had to be now.

The nearest town was only a few miles away. The courier gave the slave her coat and for the first time Veronica could see the strong set of her shoulders, her muscular back. She couldn’t take her eyes from it. Couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. Did the courier know she was watching? There wasn’t much that escaped her notice, after all. Walking was uncomfortable, and she was aware of Raul peering at her curiously from the corner of his eye, wanting to ask about it but saying nothing.

The courier handed the girl over to a travelling caravan on their way to Primm. Said she knew folks there who could help her. Standing there in the road, the sun beating down clear as anything, the slave looked almost human. Veronica stared and burned with jealousy. She wasn’t sure where that anger came from.

The girl thanked her. Smiled a sweet little smile, dressed now like any other wastelander, and it was hard to believe she was the same person as the girl they’d rescued the day before. Veronica couldn’t help but wonder if something the courier did had healed her. The courier, her face as impassive as ever, stood with her hands on her hips as the caravan left. Raul said nothing, and neither did Veronica.


	4. F!Courier/Veronica || no cw

Veronica was furious. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. And neither Raul nor the courier had seen her angry before; she was always so chipper.

Raul was content to steer clear of it; he knew his place, and so long as it didn’t cause any trouble he was happy to let her simmer until it passed. And the courier – well, she didn’t care, but Veronica knew better than to say she didn’t notice. And it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

They reached the NCR ranger camp a few hours after sundown. The courier knew folks there – she seemed to know folks everywhere. Veronica didn’t feel wholly comfortable here, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. And so she went with Raul when the courier dismissed them, setting about finding a bunk for the night. They were allowed into the mess hall, and it was nice to eat something other than cold, irradiated food. For all her talents, the courier couldn’t cook for shit.

In fact, the courier was absent for the most part of the night. Veronica couldn’t sleep, and instead lay in her cot tossing and turning and willing herself not to shove a hand down her pants. She was still so _angry_.

And then, just at the wrong moment, the courier returned. Hell, Veronica wasn’t even in bed at that point; seeing sleep as an impossibility, she’d gone outside to wander, to sit and stare at the moon.

She didn’t hear the courier approach her until she clicked open her lighter.

Veronica leapt to her feet instinctively. The courier didn’t flinch. She just watched her, face lit by the dusky glow of her cigarette. Veronica always felt like a kid again when the courier looked at her like that.

“Didn’t think of you as the introspective type,” the courier said in her low, rasping voice, and Veronica was, for a moment, surprised that she was being spoken to directly.

“I – I’m –,” Gathering her wits about her again, Veronica squared her shoulders. No – she wouldn’t let herself be thrown so totally off-guard by a woman like the courier. She was better than that. “You don’t know as much about me as you think.”

The courier smiled and very nearly laughed. She blew out a cloud of blue smoke and tapped her cigarette into the breeze. “No, perhaps not.”

“How could you?”

Ah. There it was. It was only a matter of time until Veronica could no longer hold it in; from the look on the courier’s face, she’d been waiting for it.

“How could I what?”

Veronica flinched. “You know what I mean.”

Another drag. “Do I?”

 _Infuriating bitch._ “You do!” Veronica replied indignantly, though kept her voice low. A hiss. The worst part of it all was that the courier didn’t seem affected by it at all. “What you did to that girl – how dare you!”

The courier sighed. “You don’t understand what –,”

But the switch had been flipped. “It is, though. She didn’t know, she was vulnerable and scared and you just – you’re just – just a rapist, you’re no better than – !”

The courier grabbed her arm so suddenly that the words were stolen right from Veronica’s throat. She gasped, the breath punched from her lungs as she was wrenched around and shoved hard against the cliff face. The courier was impossibly close; Veronica could smell her, all gun oil and regret. Her cunt clenched.

“Don’t you fucking _ever_ call me that again,” the courier snarled. Her breath blew hot against Veronica’s mouth and she sucked it in like jet. Time slowed, and she knew that even if she had the will to struggle against the courier’s grip, it probably wouldn’t do much good. “Those slaves? They’re fucked. That girl did what she knew and I saw no reason to stop her. You think I held her down and raped her? Let me enlighten you: it was _her_ who crawled into my bed, between my legs, beggin’ to suck my cunt. All she wanted was to be called a good girl, told that she was safe. I can’t do much for people like that, but I could give the poor bitch that much. I made her come. I made her squirt all over herself and gave her the best sleep she’s probably ever had in her life. That makes me as bad as her slavers, huh?”

Veronica was shaking. Her cunt drooled. The courier was too close, everywhere at once, not close enough, wouldn’t be close enough until she was _inside_ her, whatever that meant. Veronica could barely keep her eyes open, but she did, unable to tear them away from the courier’s. Her lips trembled and her anger transformed into something else, something not quite like envy – it was worse, a biting jealousy that settled like rot deep in her gut.

Then the courier grinned, wide and feral and full of teeth, and said, “I know you watched us.”

 _Of course you do,_ Veronica wanted to spit, but her mind couldn’t string together the words. The courier’s forearm pressed into her torso so hard she could barely breathe. She wished it was her hands rather than her arm, hands groping her tits, pulling her shirt up and –

“Did you enjoy it, Veronica?”

It was the first time she’d addressed her by her name. Veronica whimpered. It was a reply in itself.

“Thought so.” The courier’s knee bullied up between Veronica’s thighs, and her knees almost buckled. Her cunt throbbed and she hated herself for it. Lips at her ear. “Wish it was you?”

Veronica’s breath shuddered.

“Her pussy was a dream,” the courier murmured in her ear, wet, hot. “Pink and tight. I could barely fit my fingers in there. Did you wish it was you I was fucking? Shovin’ my fingers in your cunt, hm? I make pretty girls like you see stars, Veronica. Wring you dry. Make you beg. You’d be delicious, I just know it.”

Something inside Veronica nearly broke. It took all her discipline not to drop her weight down onto the courier’s thigh and fall against her, swooning like a starlet, to beg for her fingers and her mouth, to get fucked to within an inch of her life like that slave.

But she didn’t. Because Veronica Santangelo was better than that, and she wouldn’t be brought down with little more than words.

And so, with a strength she didn’t know she possessed, she pushed the courier off her. The courier’s cigarette had burnt down to a stub, almost singeing her fingers, but she didn’t seem to notice. Veronica stood, shaking like a leaf, but she was _still standing_.

“Fuck you,” she managed, weak as it was, and before the courier could say anything else, Veronica stormed back to their tent.

The courier, despite everything, couldn’t help but be impressed.


	5. F!Courier/Gomorrah Whore || Prostitution

Veronica hated this place. She hated it even despite the clean carpet and the glittering lights, and the sweet woodsmoke that rose from censers hung from the ceiling. She hated it even despite the fountains and the glamour. It was a feeling that lodged in her gut the moment she walked through those doors. A feeling she couldn’t seem to shake.

She chided herself for it, told herself not to be so ridiculous. It was just business, after all. The Gomorrah, in all its hulking, fiery glory, was just another business. She tried to remind herself of that.

The courier didn’t seem to mind. Over the weeks they’d travelled together, Veronica had come to know her, to read her the same way the courier had read _her_ the moment they first met. She’d come to know her tells and her tics through close observation and, perhaps, a smidgen or two of obsession. But now she gave away nothing, regarding the lobby of the Gomorrah with a face that was entirely impassive. She didn’t look around, didn’t linger, didn’t wait for Veronica to stop gawking.

The further into the building they got, the more Veronica despised it.

It was all right, at first, with the pretty servers and the greeters and the dealers. It was all right. Just another casino full of shiny-topped tables, green felt, card decks. The music was low and Veronica could feel it in her bones, a vibration she couldn’t escape. The air was sweet with sin. But then there were the girls, caged up near the ceiling, their bodies glistening with sweat and something that glittered in the light. Their eyes were wide, hungry, but not unseeing. They gazed at Veronica as they danced, but not one of them smiled. They could see the fear on her face.

She stuck close behind the courier. There was solace in her duster, in the weatherdness of it. ED-E made no sound at all, as if it could sense Veronica’s anxiety. If the courier could, she didn’t do anything about it. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t even bother looking back.

They poked around. Eavesdropped. Met some whores, even talked to a few. The courier, at least, talked to them as she would talk to anyone else and kept her hands to herself. It was almost… polite. It was jarring to see. Veronica had become so used to the courier’s derisiveness towards others that she’d forgotten how gentle she could be. She’d forgotten that kindness.

And the poor girls lapped up the respect the courier showed them, and Veronica could see them falling in love like stars falling from the sky. She pitied them. How far to fall, when one is smitten by courtesy.

Veronica stood against the wall as one of the girls preened over the courier. She didn’t look, kept her eyes trained hard on the carpet, on her ugly old boots. The girls here were pretty, even if they were out of their minds on jet. Pretty. Prettier than her, maybe. Probably.

“…ronica. Veronica.” Something tapped at Veronica’s chin, nestled against her chest, and she started. She’d been so consumed by her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed the courier send the whore off and come over to her, not until she’d tapped at her chin with one of her long, roughened fingers. The courier saw Veronica’s discomfort plainly, but she didn’t chide her for it. No; her eyes were gentle even though her face remained as severe as ever. Veronica’s heart stumbled a little at the sight of it. Something rare. Something golden.

“I’m all right –,”

“You can wait outside, if you want.” The courier’s voice was firm. “I know this place is makin’ you antsy.”

Veronica flushed, indignant. She wasn’t a coward; she didn’t _run away_ just because of a few nerves. “I’m _fine._ ”

Sighing, the courier opened the bag on her belt and drew forth a handful of caps. “Take these, go buy me somethin’ nice. And don’t go making trouble.” Veronica almost expected to see a flicker of a smile. She didn’t. She took the caps and stuffed them into her pocket.

“Will you be okay on your own?” she asked like she didn’t know better. The courier nodded and tipped her hat.

“I’ll be just fine.”

The air was cool and clear. The Strip hummed, aglow in the twilight, and beside her ED-E let out a few encouraging chirps. Veronica sighed and patted the caps in her pocket. It was better being out here, she thought. Besides – the courier could hold her own. She wouldn’t be missed for an hour or two.

 _Buy me somethin’ nice._ Veronica had no idea what the courier even _liked_. As far as Veronica knew, the woman had no hobbies apart from shooting people. It was yet another reminder that as much as Veronica thought she’d come to know the courier, she didn’t really know anything about her at all.

One thing she knew, however, was that the courier wouldn’t want anything they sold on the Strip.

* * *

“So you gonna tell me your name, honey?”

She was a smooth young thing, spoke like she came from further south, and had the kind of teeth you only saw in vault dwellers. Big tits, oiled skin, just the way all these old men liked her. But the courier wasn’t like those men. She wasn’t like anybody.

The girl smirked at her. Her eyes smouldered. She tried to take off the courier’s hat, but a firm hand to her wrist stopped her. The courier felt the tendons flinch and the shiver of skin. “No,” she murmured. “I’m not.”

The girl’s name was Sherry, she said. Just as sweet and just as dark. The courier tasted her, licked inside her mouth and sucked on her tongue until Sherry’s cunt was an oasis. The courier was hardly new to this, and just like everything else she’d come to learn over the years, she was very fucking good at it.

She handled Sherry with an unfamiliar firmness; it wasn’t like the rough customers, but it wasn’t gentle. It was guiding. Open. Sherry wasn’t sure how to handle it, and the courier could taste her nervousness.

“You don’t gotta be scared,” she murmured against the girl’s mouth, as pink and ripe as a peach. “Not here. Not with me.”

These girls didn’t get kindness very much. Didn’t matter if it was some shanty brothel or an upscale casino like this – it was all the same, in the end. The least the courier could do was show them what kindness was like.

Sherry had been taken aback when she’d first met the courier. She’d expected that the woman was here for the same reasons everyone else was, but she’d found out very quickly that the courier was only there for business. Her manner surprised her, too, and left her flustered. She’d answered the courier’s questions. How long had it been since she’d been talked to like this by a stranger?

There was something about the courier she hungered for. And, so, when all was said and done she took the courier aside and offered her a good time, even if it was just to get a little more time with her. She didn’t expect the conflict that passed over the courier’s face, though, nor the way she sent a half-glance over her shoulder at the scrappy girl she’d dragged along with her.

What surprised her most, however, was when the courier said yes.

Sherry may have been pretty, but she was no fool, no matter what the world might have thought of her. She knew people, and she knew that this was a woman who needed a solid orgasm or two. Tired, dirty, stressed. Sherry knew the type. She knew how to treat them, how to simper and smile and moan.

She didn’t do any of that. Not with the courier.

Instead she was held down and _fucked_ , first with fingers and then with one of her own toys, and by the time the courier had wrung the third orgasm from her she was crying and shaking and struggling to breathe. And the courier, rather than leaving her, held her and stroked her hair and hushed her like a baby.

“Let me treat you, too,” Sherry begged. “You haven’t…”

“You don’t have to,” the courier replied. “You gave me enough as is.”

Sherry couldn’t help but shiver. “Fuck me again,” she urged.

So she did.

The courier fucked her on all fours with the strength of a brahmin, and Sherry worried (very briefly) that she might never be able to walk again. Her legs were numb with pleasure, her body burning with it, but when she glanced over her shoulder she saw the courier’s eyes screwed shut and she knew that the courier wasn’t thinking about her.

“Who were you thinking ‘bout?” Sherry asked after it was all over, when they lay smoking on her bed, side-by-side. For a long moment the courier didn’t reply, merely watching the smoke curl towards the ceiling.

“Someone,” she replied, turning her head to fix her eyes upon Sherry’s face.

“It was her, wasn’t it?” There was no need to explain who _she_ was. They both knew. The courier rose and began to dress without replying. Her silence was reply enough.

* * *

Veronica returned to the Strip two hours later with a shiny new silencer – she had no doubts the courier would appreciate it, at least. Spending time in Freeside had lifted her spirits, and she returned to the Gomorrah feeling a good sight better than when she’d left it.

“It’s all business,” she told ED-E, who beeped in agreement.

The courier wasn’t where Veronica had left her. In fact, she wasn’t anywhere – Veronica had to _ask_ about her, and only after a good few minutes was she directed to the lobby and instructed to wait. Veronica realised quite suddenly just where the courier had gone.

She sat there with a leaden belly and skin crawling with heat. People glanced at her, uninterested, and the silencer in her pocket felt like little more than a dead weight. She felt – she didn’t know _what_ she felt, why sitting there waiting was so humiliating. But she bore it, because if Veronica Santangelo was anything, it was resilient, and it was _strong_.

ED-E chirped by her side.

It felt like hours when the courier finally returned from the suites. She had a satisfied sort of swagger about her, now, and Veronica hated it even more than she hated the Gomorrah. She hated a lot of things in that moment, but most of all Veronica hated the courier.

“Have fun?” she asked coldly. The courier eyed her, as calculating as she was curious. She flashed a glimmer of teeth.

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

Thankfully they left the Gomorrah soon after that, stepping out into the night that had only just fallen over the Strip. Veronica said nothing. What the hell was she supposed to say? Instead she merely followed along, just as she always did, as the courier headed back to Vault 21.

Veronica sat in their suite while the courier showered. The silence pressed in on her, impervious even despite the distant hum of activity beyond their door and the rush of the shower. Her eyes remained fixed on the courier’s duster slung over the back of a chair, her boots tossed by the door, and her hat on the foot of her bed. The shower shut off. The courier came out half-dressed and with wet hair and Veronica tried her very best not to look at her.

“Did somethin’ happen?” If Veronica didn’t know better, she’d say the courier was concerned. She still didn’t look at her. The courier tossed her towel to the floor and went to her. “Veronica.”

“Nothing happened,” Veronica said, finally raising her eyes to the courier’s face. It was strange, seeing it without all that grime and dust. She looked different. More human. “I just –,”

The courier tilted her head. How old was she? She didn’t look terribly old, but the lines in her face were deep even if they were few. She had a stern face, a handsome face, with a strong nose and expressive mouth. With her hair wet and pushed back from her face, Veronica could see everything, and in that moment she knew that the courier must trust her enough to expose the one part of her she seemed most keen to keep hidden.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” she muttered.

The courier smiled. Veronica had no idea why she was smiling, but she didn’t want her to ever stop. It was wide and generous and made Veronica’s breath catch in her throat, cliché as it was. Her throat bobbed with a chuckle and the creases in her cheeks deepened. “No,” she agreed. “I shouldn’t have.”

The smile faded and was replaced by something else, something Veronica couldn’t quite decipher. The whisper of a frown puckered the courier’s brow, but after a moment she crossed the room to the wet bar to pour herself a drink.

“I ain’t gonna lie to you,” the courier told her after taking a long drink from the tumbler. She turned, spread her hands, and Veronica’s eyes were drawn to the muscles of her arms. “I’m not a good woman. You know that. You ain’t stupid.” She had that stern look about her again, now. “I’m not gonna wander through the Mojave chaste as a nun, y’know? We all fuck. We all got the _need_ to fuck. If someone wants to show me a good time, then who am I to say no?”

Veronica stared at her, blearily. She was right. Veronica had no illusion about the kind of woman the courier was, after all; she was just like the rest of them, just as rotten and just as desperate. All they were trying to do was survive. “I get it.”

The courier nodded and went back to her drink, and once again silence consumed them.

“Hope you didn’t go wasting my caps at casinos,” the courier said eventually. Veronica became aware of the silencer, which was still in the pocket of her coat, which now hung on the back of the door. She went to retrieve it, joining the courier on the couch and holding it out to her.

“It’s not – I mean, Gloria said you’d like it, so I –,”

The courier took the silencer and turned it over in her hands. Her eyes shone and she gave Veronica another rare smile, and, just as always, her heart stumbled.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Veronica could barely handle it. The knowledge that the courier had just fucked some girl to within an inch of her life, the smiles, the _thank you_ – it was too much. Veronica wanted her so badly she could barely stand it. She didn’t know what she’d do if she snapped.

The courier watched her closely. She knew something was wrong. She knew there was some kind of conflict going on, even if Veronica refused to tell her anything.

“You always do this,” she accused. “Always. Whenever I fuck someone, you get upset. Not when I kill people, just when I fuck ‘em.” Her voice was low. Smokey. Veronica couldn’t tear her eyes away from her.

“I don’t –,” she began, but words eluded her, slippery and hard to grasp. A muscle in the courier’s jaw jumped as she ground her teeth. “It’s none of my business,” she managed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The courier’s hand gripped her jaw, quick as a shot, and Veronica couldn’t help the sharp breath she drew at the pinch of pain. The courier never touched her. Never touched anybody. The heat of her skin was unbearable. Her face was too close. Veronica could see the whites of her eyes, the dusky pink of her tear ducts, each dark eyelash.

“I told you I won’t lie to you,” the courier told her. “So don’t you lie to me. I don’t like liars.”

Veronica swallowed thickly, her instincts thrown into disarray. Part of her wanted to be scared of the courier in that moment, but she wasn’t. Somehow, she wasn’t. “It’s none of my business.”

The courier smiled grimly. “I ain’t gonna fuck you, Veronica.”

Veronica’s belly dropped. “Wh – what?”

“I said I ain’t gonna fuck you, not that you’d ever have the balls to ask.” The courier’s breath was hot on her mouth and Veronica felt like she just might pass out. That was it. She was at her breaking point. She –

And just like that, the courier pushed her away, and Veronica could breathe again. Her cheeks were flushed, her breath rapid. The courier took another drink and regarded her over the lip of her glass with the same impassive stare that Veronica was used to. It hurt, almost, seeing that.

“You’re crazy,” she bit out, but the courier didn’t bother replying.


	6. F!Courier/Veronica || fisting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so BAD news is that i may have accidentally deleted my whole doc for this fic 
> 
> GOOD news is that it honestly doesn't matter and there wasn't that much porn in it anyway

“I want to finger you.”

The courier choked on her drink. The fizz erupted up her nose and poured syrupy-sweet down her chin. She coughed harshly, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, and looked at Veronica like she was crazy.

“Give a gal some warning next time.”

A blush tingled at Veronica’s hairline and she smiled ruefully. “Sorry, I – I didn’t mean _now_ , I just –,” Her hands fidgeted nervously between her knees. “You always do it for me, so I thought I should return the favor.”

For a long moment the courier didn’t speak. She just looked at her – looked at her with those flinty, deep-set eyes that reminded Veronica of all the things she couldn’t mess with. Sized her up, sucked her in. Her skin prickled underneath the sweep of it, but she didn’t look away. She knew better than that.

It was a long time coming, really – for someone who usually took what she wanted, the courier was jarringly serviceable during sex. Maybe, elsewhere, she’d plunder intimacy just as she would anything else, but Veronica had always been different; with her there was tenderness, and the courier handled her with a certain degree of reverence that made Veronica wonder if she was afraid of breaking something. She was only ever gentle, only ever loving, and she never _took_. She only ever seemed to give. Which, y’know, was fine – until it wasn’t.

“You don’t gotta return nothin’,” the courier muttered, finally turning away to take a swig of her Nuka-Cola. Her face was dusky; Veronica could only see a slip of it between her neckerchief and her hat, the peaks of her cheeks and the unforgiving ridge of her nose made dark with dust. “I like doin’ it.”

With a stout little sigh, Veronica lurched forwards on her hands and knees and picked her way across the cramped little room, right until she sat square on her knees in front of where the courier was slouched on a stack of sarsaparilla crates.

“Take off the hat.”

The courier eyed her dangerously, but Veronica wasn’t fazed. She just stared until, finally, the courier flung off her hat, taking care to make a show of it. Her hair was dark and plastered to her scalp and Veronica was seized by the urge to put her hands in it. The courier leaned forwards, elbows on her knees, issuing a challenge in little more than the set of her brow. Veronica leaned forwards, upwards, until she was close enough to smell the sweat on the courier’s neck, her unwashed hair, the dust on her clothes.

“I _want_ to do it.” Veronica barely needed to speak at all; the courier’s ears were sharp as a nightstalker. Her gaze jumped between Veronica’s eyes and her lips, unable to choose the best place to rest. Eventually it came to settle on her hands, and the courier licked her lips. Veronica angled her voice as soft and sweet as she could, and asked, “Please?”

A groan trembled in the courier’s throat. Visible. She gave Veronica a long-suffering glare before grabbing her face in both hands, right over her ears, and dragging the space closed. Her mouth was hot and slick and sweet, and Veronica licked into it eagerly, rising to grip the courier’s knees.

“You did that on purpose,” the courier accused; her voice was a half-moan and Veronica couldn’t do anything but laugh into her mouth. “You know how much I like it when you get all cutesy.”

Veronica shivered at the sharp scrape of teeth over her lip. She was already beginning to tingle between her legs, blood rushing south and leaving her brain high and dry and dizzy. She pressed forwards further, slotting herself in the bracket of the courier’s strong thighs, feeling the heat of her groin against her belly. “I just wanna make you feel good,” Veronica breathed between each bruising kiss. “Please let me make you feel good.”

It was then that the courier’s dark eyes rose and flickered; she checked the door and the boarded-up windows, listened for anything outside the hiss of the fire and the murmurs of their own salacious movements. The building was squat and as secure as it was likely to get, and the tension began to unravel – however minutely – beneath the begging grasp of Veronica’s fingers, already working at the buckle of her belt.

The courier didn’t have a single smart word to croon at her. Everything she might have said came out in rapid breaths as Veronica pushed her back against the crates, finally undoing her trousers and tugging them down just far enough to bare the dark mess of hair between the courier’s legs. Veronica, rather than being put-off by how unkempt it was, leaned in close and _inhaled._

“Fuck,” the courier wheezed, her head spinning.

Veronica hummed between her legs, her eyes fixed firmly on the courier’s cunt. Her fingers rasped against her inner thigh, dragging, thumb digging into the sinew. “You’re already wet,” she breathed, eyes wide and shining like she’d just seen something amazing. The courier, huffing and red-faced, managed to frown at her.

And then Veronica’s mouth was on her.

The courier choked, back snapping rigid and gripping white-knuckled onto the crates. Veronica’s tongue, narrow and cat-like, pushed up through her folds and butted against the heavy base of her clit. No, no – the courier’s cunt wasn’t pretty, never had been. It wasn’t small or tight or pink; it was hairy and meaty and dark, her clit broad and fat. And yet Veronica didn’t seem put off by it in the slightest – if anything, she seemed even _more_ turned on, breathing hard through her nose as she worked her mouth. Desperately, reverently – she feasted like she was starving, using her fingers to spread the courier open further, feeling around her hole with her tongue.

“Christ, Ronnie,” the courier huffed out from between grit teeth. “Thought you were gonna – gonna finger me?” Even though she was sweating and even though her muscles were seizing with sensation, the courier hadn’t lost her edge. Veronica met her eye. She didn’t like that at all.

Reluctantly, Veronica dragged herself back, detaching herself from the courier’s pussy with a vile, wet noise. She replaced her tongue with her fingers, taking the courier’s clit between two of them and jerking it like it was a cock. Veronica’s jowls glistened.

“I couldn’t help myself,” she argued, fingers dragging down, ghosting over the courier’s hole. There was promise, there, in that touch. “You looked too delicious. I had – I had to put my mouth on you.”

Veronica’s raw sincerity made the courier shiver. It was uncomfortable, sitting there half-slouched between some crates and Veronica, but she was afraid that if she moved she would lose the fizzling current of pleasure that was winding its way up through her nervous system. She bared her teeth in something that wasn’t quite a grin, and Veronica slipped a finger inside. The courier let out a quiet little chuckle at the disappointed shift of Veronica’s mouth.

“’S gonna take more’n that, darlin’,” the courier told her, tongue swollen in her mouth. She _did_ grin, then. It was toothy; wolfish. Veronica’s favorite. She swallowed and pushed in another finger beside the first. She was by no means an expert in this sort of thing – she’d messed around a few times, sure, but she’d never had a chance to learn the intricacies of pleasuring a woman. And so instead she busied herself feeling around the slick, hot insides gripping her fingers.

It was difficult for Veronica to pull up memories through the haze that had settled between her ears, but she managed, somehow. She recalled the courier’s fingers, long and rough, and the punishing way they had driven into her. The way they had moved. The courier’s shit-eating grin as Veronica shook and screamed and squirted all over them both. Breathing was suddenly immensely difficult, and Veronica’s mouth dropped open to try and drag in the air. She moves her fingers, dragging them in and out, deeply, _firmly._

“Christ,” the courier breathed. Veronica tried not to preen; she was obviously going in the right direction. Her thumb found the courier’s clit again, pressing in and rubbing tight little circles over it, her thumbnail slipping beneath the hood. The courier’s hips jerked wildly and she moaned, for the first time, like all the air had been knocked from her lungs. “Good girl,” she slurred. “Jus’ like that.”

She sounded very much like a drunk old man, Veronica thought. Her voice was husky, made rough by thirst and the jet she’d had earlier, impossibly deep. _Good girl_. It rang around in Veronica’s skull like it was the only thing that existed. That deep, praising tone, the hand pushing beneath her hood and into her hair, the minute shake of the courier’s fingers against her ear. A thumb pressed past her lips, slotted between her teeth, and Veronica lathed her tongue against it.

“Harder,” the courier growled. Sweat glistened on her forehead and her upper lip. Veronica moaned around the thumb in her mouth and drove her fingers in faster, angling as deep as she could, enraptured by the dancing tendons in the courier’s neck when she wrenched the neckerchief away. She angled her hand, pressed the heel of it to the courier’s mound, reached in deep and crooked her sluicing fingers against an odd resistance; the courier’s spine folder and she let out a deep, shivering hum. The courier leaned forward until the hot wash of her breath stirred Veronica’s eyelashes and cooled the sweat on her cheeks. “You don’t gotta be gentle with me, Ronnie. I can see it in your eyes you don’t wanna be.”

Veronica swallowed thickly, pushing the courier’s thumb out of her mouth so she could lean in and kiss her instead. The courier moaned into her mouth and Veronica slipped another finger in alongside the others.

They drew apart wetly. The courier’s mouth was dark and kiss-swollen, and she fucked herself on Veronica’s fingers in a way that was almost _desperate_. She caught Veronica staring and laughed like she could read her damn mind.

“Your hand’s too fuckin’ small,” the courier groused, because of _course_ she could complain while Veronica was three fingers knuckle-deep in her cunt. Those dark eyes gleamed, bright as stars, and lust rocketed straight to Veronica’s pussy. She tucked her pinky in alongside the other fingers and fucked, in and out, over and over until she was wet up to the wrist. The courier’s clit was swollen and flushed, the hair around her cunt plastered to the flesh with slick. It was wild, raw, and the most delectable thing Veronica had seen in her life. Her hand, as small and pale as it was, looked almost strange there. Her fingers were narrow and short, unable to reach as deeply as she would have liked. She frowned, assessing the ridge of her knuckles, the creases of her palm.

“More,” rasped the courier, her head tilting back, exposing her neck, glimmering in the firelight.

Veronica shoved forwards so the courier’s thigh was over her shoulder, tucking her thumb up into her palm. Her heartbeat hammered between her legs and the air felt painfully thin, pungent with the smell of the courier’s sex. With one last, firm shove, Veronica’s knuckles breached the courier’s hole and her hand was swallowed to the wrist in tight, sucking heat.

“Fuck!” the courier barked, somehow managing a disbelieving little laugh, and gazed wide-eyed down at where Veronica’s arm disappeared between her legs. She felt giddy; Veronica moved her hand, then, eyes fixed on the courier’s face as she did, closing her fingers into a fist and _pushing_. The courier’s moan was high and shaky. Eyes met. “ _Fuck me_.”

The courier’s growl was low. Urgent. Voice stuck in her throat like a stone, something she couldn’t swallow, couldn’t spit out. Veronica’s body burned up under her clothes, her own cunt swimming in juices. She couldn’t look away from the rapture of the courier’s face.

The muscles in Veronica’s arm began to smart; she fucked into the courier with as much strength as she could muster, pushing back against the solid resistance of the courier’s body. No, she didn’t have to be gentle – she was nervous, even now, but the way the courier’s body contorted in a mass of fluttering muscles and slick, sweating skin gave her enough confidence to keep going. The courier’s thigh trembled over her shoulder. Each time her mouth opened, she would become less and less comprehensible, her teeth grit against the pleasure lancing up through her gut. She was – full. _Full_. So full, full of _Veronica._ The pressure made her dizzy. And Veronica was moaning, mouthing at her thigh, and her breath was hot and wet; the courier could hardly keep her vision straight.

“Fuck! Fuck me!” The courier fucked herself down on Veronica’s arm, barely able to hear the girl’s astounded laugh over the blood pounding in her ears; she screwed her eyes shut and rode along each ridge of her breath, her entire body locking up and moving as one. Her clothes were drenched with sweat, her eyes blinded by it, and then the heel of Veronica’s other hand ground against her clit and –

The courier’s body gave a great, heaving shudder as she came, her juices sluicing down Veronica’s forearm, thick as syrup. She couldn’t help but lick them up, marvelling at the squeeze of the courier’s cunt around her hand; she could feel the hard nub of her cervix against her fingers, and the courier shivered whenever she pressed against it. Push, pull relax; Veronica could have quite happily left her hand inside, but when the courier began to flinch, she slipped it out as gently as she could. Her hand glimmered, fingers webbed with dripping slick, and she raised her hand to her mouth to suck it clean. The courier slumped back against the crates and watched her, clit twitching appreciatively.

“Fuck me,” she rumbled, though this time it wasn’t an order, but instead a tired expression of disbelief. Her voice was breathy, harsh in the way it only ever was after she fucked. “Weren’t expectin’ _that_.”

Veronica smiled as she dragged her tongue up over her knuckles. “Should’ve let me do it sooner, huh?”

The courier leaned down to pick up her hat from the floor, cramming it on her head rather than admitting she’d been wrong. Veronica grinned and clambered into her lap.

“How ‘bout you return the favor?”


End file.
